Two Years
by Loverly Light
Summary: Their interactions seem to come once every two years. RichardXLucy.


Two Years

Wow. It's hard to believe it's been this long since I've talked to you. Two whole years… I can't understand how time could pass so quickly.

A lot of things have happened since we met last. I'm a senior in high school now; can you believe it? Oh, and I have a boyfriend now, too! His name's Curt Stevens. I don't think you ever met him, but I've known him for a long time. He has a lot of flaws, but I really like him. Although, sometime I wonder if we… well, that doesn't matter now.

Two years, huh? That's an interesting pattern we've developed, isn't it. We've never had a close relationship, but every two years… seems like that means something to us.

The first time I met you… that first time, I was eleven years old. It had been two years (well, almost; it was one year, ten months and two weeks) since Daddy… since my dad died. We were really close, dad and I. And it wasn't like I kept stewing for all that time, that I didn't go on and enjoy my life, but I knew part of me would always miss him, no matter what else happened. But things were changing, and I felt rebellious.

I just couldn't understand, after how good I always was, how I kept getting hurt while all my friends lived freely.

After my spat with Connie at camp, I was worse than ever, frustrated with myself and my life and dying to do something crazy. And it was then, the worst possible time, that you showed up. You were handsome and kind and far more charming than you had any right to be. I should have realized you were manipulating me, I really should have. But despite that... you were my haven. I didn't worry about being good or sensible around you, I could just... well, be myself. And I... I didn't, couldn't believe it at the time, but you were telling the truth, weren't you? That it wasn't all a lie. That, on some level, you really did care for me. You even almost got yourself killed trying to make it up to me.

Then you left me. I can't blame you, really. It wasn't your choice. But I was angry at you… not just for what you did; I was angry at you for leaving. I know, it was completely irrational. It wasn't like me. But still… that's what I felt.

Then, two years later. I had grown older, grown up, gotten over you. You never crossed my mind for more than a few seconds (and when that happened, I quickly banished you from my thoughts. That was a dark point in my life, one I wanted to erase from my memory as much as I could.) And then you showed up again. No matter what I had been telling myself, I recognized you instantly. All those memories came flooding back, and I became vulnerable again. So I had to protect myself. How could I forgive you, after all you had done? But then I thought about it. I though long and hard, and prayed even harder. I knew… I knew I had to forgive you. It might hurt to, but it would hurt more not to.

And then you left again. Of your own volition no less. I struggled hard then, trying to keep my ill-will towards you from springing up again. I didn't understand why, when I was willing to be… friends… with you again, you felt you needed to leave Odyssey. But at least you said you might come back. I clung to that hope dearly, holding it in a corner of my heart, not letting it interfere with my life, but not allowing myself to let it go either.

And then… Odyssey's darkest hour. The Bones of Rath started covertly trashing the town, Whit's End was closed, and Blackgaard came back. But when he came back… you did too. It wasn't the return I was hoping for, but at least you were back here… back where you belonged. But that time was crazy, and we didn't get to talk much… in fact, the only time you weren't too preoccupied to talk with me was when I had been kidnapped. (I would willingly get kidnapped again, you know, if it meant you would save me.) I was so scared then— terrified. But when you showed up… I knew everything would be fine. You were there for me, and I knew I could count on you.

Always…

And then… then you fell into a coma.

You would never understand how much that terrified me. The thought that you might die, that you would leave me forever… it was the most horrific thought I could ever imagine. But finally, after all those tense hours, you woke up. I visited you as often as I could, and you kept you cavalier attitude, making me smile despite my worry. I knew everything would have to be all right.

Or… so I thought.

Since… then, I haven't come until now. The two-year anniversary of… of…

I just don't understand how it could happen! You were getting better, you were recovering, you were going to be out of there in just a few weeks!

And you were. But sooner than I expected, and in a way I never wanted.

I didn't go to your funeral. I am truly sorry about that, but… but it would have hurt too much. I spent the whole day crying into my pillow, like I had ever since the shock faded away and left me hollow. I just couldn't believe… couldn't understand… I'm sorry. I'm starting to cry again. I told myself I wouldn't cry; you told me you didn't want me to cry…

I don't know why I decided to come today. Maybe it was a mistake. I didn't think… didn't know it would be this painful.

You left me. _Again_. Please tell me you know that. You left me alone, forever, like I dreaded you would.

But somehow... somehow I can't feel like you're really gone. Maybe it's a wild hope, that you faked your death and ran off somewhere that you could be safe. It would hurt to know that you left me on purpose, allowed me to go through life alone, but just knowing you were alive somewhere would make me happier than you would believe.

Deep down, though, I know that's not true. I was with you when you passed. That was you lying there, you looking at me with your comforting gaze, you giving me your last words of comfort and love as your life slipped away.

You aren't completely dead though. I'd never let that happen. You trust me on that, don't you? Because I will always, always keep you in my heart.

It's getting late. How long have I been here? It feels like it's only been a few minutes, but the sun tells a different story. I should go, Mom will be expecting me home soon. I'll miss you, but I'll come and visit soon, okay? I promise it won't take two years this time.

Goodbye... Richard Maxwell.


End file.
